


ma'am there is no superhero discount

by softestpink



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: All of Kate's Girl Enemies Just Want Her Number, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Coffee As Medicine, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpink/pseuds/softestpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America spends a lot more of her time saving Kate's ass than she'd like to admit. But maybe Kate saves her right back. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://missamerica.co.vu/post/93823177457/the-one-where-america-and-kate-are-canon

So it kinds of starts in Calcutta, just after Kate gets her ass handed to her in a shitty back-alley and about hour before she's towed to Clint's, where Natasha shows up with disinfectant and a real sewing kit. Which- Kate can clarify is actually much better than _baby wipes, **Clint Barton**_.

 

Anyway. 

 

Backtrack. 

 

So Kate's hitting up two thugs she just tailed from a high-class jewelry heist when they drop their guns and whip out actual staffs and she realizes- hey these might not be your regular cronies. For one thing, they're moving too goddamn fast and pulling footwork that Kate's only seen in the old karate movies that Clint likes to stash on top of the kitchen cabinets.

 

"Should've minded your fucking business, rich girl. No one told you to play hero tonight. Let me guess- it's something to make you feel alive?"

 

Very original. 

 

Kate lands a knee in one of their stomachs and barely avoids a crushed nose against the heel of a gloved hand.

 

"Should talk less." Kate grunts because she never understands why they always wanna discuss the national fucking debt when Kate's trying to rain justice down on the criminal public. 

 

Well. 

 

Right now she kind of isn't raining anything because- well. 

 

 _Shit_ , Kate thinks when her bow is swiped and snapped in half in one swift move. Did she already mention fast? Jesus Christ. Two-bit thieves are getting good these days.  
She ducks and rolls to avoid a particularly vicious lunge and while she might not be cornered, she isn't exactly winning this fight. Really good.

 

She changes tactics, tries to cut her losses and get the fuck out of here, because even she knows when a fight is over. But one of the thieves, a tall woman with hands like a bear snatches her back by her hair. 

 

Dirty move. 

 

Kate tries to trip her up and somehow still ends up being the one flat on her ass. Even her defense is barely holding up and Kate panics when she hears the distinct sound of a garbage can getting knocked over. When did Amazon Queen call for backup? And why? It's not like Kate's got her in a tough spot here. Kate turns for a better look and the fist that decks her right in the nose is like a life lesson in itself.

 

"Hey!" A screeching whistle rings Kate's eardrums. "You don't know me but i'm giving you three seconds to get out of here. Oh, and leave the jewelry." 

 

Kate's vision is bleary and weak from the way her eyes are tearing up involuntarily, but she knows that voice. There's blood leaking into her open mouth. She feels like a Goonies character when she wipes the back of her hand across her face and it smears.

 

Shit. 

 

"Should I be scared or some-" America lunges over the garbage can and punches the woman so hard Kate can literally see her jaw dislocate. Ouch.  
She drops with the sick kind of thud that can only mean she's out for the count, which- who can blame her? America doesn't pull punches. Speaking of- 

 

"So. Do you wanna explain what the hell this is?" 

 

"Um." Kate's still kind of seeing double when America helps her to her feet. She'd be mildly offended if it wasn't for the blood still dripping from her nostrils. "Stopping a crime. What the hell are you doing here, busting up my gig?"

 

America raises one eyebrow. 

 

"You've got a little something." she thumbs at her nose pointedly. 

 

Kate sniffs a little and then whines in the back of her throat, because _ow_ that fucking burns. 

 

"This is pathetic." America says, standing over her in civvies and a pair of thick sunglasses. Gucci. Nice. She's dabbing Kate's forehead with what feels like the liquid fires of hell but is probably just basic antiseptic lifted from the nearest hospital. "You just took a beating from an actual art thief. How does it feel to know you let _Ocean's Eleven_ there hand you your ass? I'm almost embarrassed for you." 

 

"Please." Kate sniffs "You don't know what embarrassment feels like."

 

"I've seen you and Clint try to fix a television with duct tape. It's probably something close to that." 

 

"I am wounded." Kate points out. "You are harassing the wounded." 

 

America pulls her up with one hand and inspects the (probably fucked up) line of her nose. Her hand is really warm on Kate's cheek and she seems less skeeved out by the amount of blood on her face than Kate or any other normal person would be. Props for that. 

 

"You need a doctor." she says with a straight face and Kate almost busts a rib laughing except- 

 

" _Ow_ \- stop don't make me laugh. I think my rib is fucked." 

 

America sighs and mutters to herself about princesses picking fights they can't win which- hey! Kate's won her fair share of standoffs with like. Potential galactic overlords and Earth-haters alike have gotten a piece of her. She's a Young Avenger, okay. 

 

"You're a pain, is what you are." America tells her, half-dragging her to the steps of a nearby building. 

 

'I'm _in_ pain.' Kate wants to correct her, but she's too busy whining when America lifts her bridal style and shifts her ribs so much her body starts crying for mercy. She's maybe gonna puke. 

 

"Sorry, princess." America murmurs. Kate just huffs out a quick 'it's cool' before she's grunting in pain again and resigning herself to just keeping quiet. 

 

"Can't exactly walk you down the street like this, so we'll have to punch it to your hotspot." she explains before lifting a foot and kicking all of space and time a new one. 

 

"Is the hotspot my home where I live and eat and bathe and _sleep_?" Kate whines hopefully because she's never been good at keeping her mouth shut for more than five seconds. 

 

" 'Fraid not, princess." America huffs while she runs them through a flurry of colors and moments and stars. They hop out of one of her star-holes in front of none other than Clint Barton's apartment building and everyone in a two block radius can hear the loud "Aww, man!"

 

This. 

 

This is rock bottom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's sweet ride gets some use. Fights? Again?? It's almost like the author likes action or something.

Natasha is not kind with the neosporin, which Kate bets has nothing to do with the immediate 'do you just...carry this in your purse? Do you have a purse??' comment she'd made without thinking earlier. Kate always has the suspicious feeling that Natasha's totally trying to mom her or at least big sister her until Kate makes better life choices or something.

  
Haha.

  
That's kinda sweet.

  
She stops bleeding all down her mouth and chin about an hour after Clint pushes the empty pizza boxes off the couch to make room for her, which is pretty cool. Breathing is even more of a bitch, though, as adrenaline wears off and her body remembers to be all noodly and human and in pain. Kate thinks she should be forgiven for the amount of whining she does as America pulls off her shoes and makes her put her feet up on the living room table. She stays throughout everything, even the really really bad sound Kate's nose makes when Natasha tenderly feels around the skin before blatantly mashing it into Rightness again.

  
"You hate me." Kate wheezes, but her eyes are tearing up involuntarily and it sounds more like a really deep cough more than the righteous accusation it should be.

  
"I re-aligned the bones. Shouldn't have. Sometimes it's good to learn from mistakes."

  
After about fifteen minutes (and a mountain of bloodied Kleenex piling up next to her on the couch), Kate thinks she can breathe a little better. Thank Christ. The swelling sucks and it's getting worse by the minute, she can tell, but things are looking up.

  
Kate looks over at America, standing by the armrest, hovering essentially. Aww.

  
"Don't worry about me. I'm kind of a pro at this." Not the greatest claim to be making while she tips her head back to avoid dripping any more blood.   
America rolls her eyes and folds her arms.

  
"Right. That's why you look like you just took an Ortiz fastball to the face."

  
Kate flips her off. Elegantly.

"I was handling it." 

"Uh-huh."

"Nice save though, Stars 'n Stripes. Good big gun to have. Smoky gun. Big smoky gun. I want Chunky Monkey." Kate pouts and her head hurts so much and she really really wants to be asleep. That would be real cool. She's just gonna lean back for one minute. Two minutes tops. 

"Is this supposed to happen?" America asks, turning towards Clint who's puttering around in his tiny kitchen like all of this is no biggie. She's not panicking or anything, but Kate is definitely passing out in front of her.

  
"I may have given her a mild sedative." Natasha calls out from the bathroom where America can tell she's washing her hands. "It'll be helpful when i wrap her ribs."

  
America isn't panicking. She's not. But she does kneel and change her focus to make sure Kate's bones are all generally where they should be. X-ray vision is way grosser than anyone ever thinks but it has its uses. She doesn't peek for too long, just enough to be reassured.

  
And then after, when she's straightening up and considering the disgusting mess of blood-ridden tissues littering the couch and Kate's lap, she realizes for the first time that Kate is really, really, incredibly, seriously vulnerable.

  
Obviously America knows that she's human and she was born on 'Prime Earth', which means Kate can't punch her way into another universe, but-

  
Kate's mouthy and a straight-shooter. She talks big and is so precise and gets so angry and dedicated sometimes that maybe America forgot she can't lift a building with one hand. It seems kind of ridiculous that someone with that much heart can't.

  
"It's cool I'm... meditating." Kate slurs before she's definitely out like a light. America rolls her eyes.

  
"You think she'll let me drive her car?" Clint asks from the tiny kitchen. He seems preoccupied with the empty coffee decanter in front of him.   
Natasha snorts.

  
"Clint, if you're going to masquerade as a civillian," she starts while rolling up Kate's shirt gently. "you should probably know people don't usually take other people's cars without permission or keys."

  
"...Nat, I live in Bed-Stuy. That's the only way people take other people's cars."

  
Natasha shrugs like this is a fair point.

  
"She'd kick your ass." America points out because, well, she would.

Clint squints at Kate's drooling, blood-stained form on the couch and then back at his empty cup and then back at Kate. He shrugs.

  
"I could take her."

  
Natasha chokes a little on a laugh and America is embarrassed for Clint. She thinks about staying and playing nurse with Natasha, holding bandages in place, smoothing Kate's hair.

  
"Well, I gotta book it. Later. Don't let her die." America says that last part seriously enough that Clint looks uneasy in his dirty boxers and KISS t-shirt.

  
It's four seconds tops before she's out of there and fast-travelling through to Earth 412. She's still got a job.

  
That's what she tells herself two months later when she's in the middle of kicking a monument of Thanos to pieces and suddenly a shiver wracks through her bones. Someone is in trouble. Someone close. Kate.

  
America groans, giving the statue's neck a knee so hard it cracks in half before chasing the falling head to the ground as it crashes and slapping a huge glimmering star on one eye. That should be a big enough sign.

  
'This planet is under my protection now.' it means.

  
She's already glowing before she even actively thinks about getting out of here. It's really embarrassing how fast she'll move for Kate Bishop.

  
She's not in Calcutta this time, but scrapping it in Boston in her full purple getup. And she isn't alone. Captain America. Scarlet Witch. Kamala. Some guy in a red and blue spider suit. Iron Man. Tommy. David. It seems like almost everyone is here, and America doesn't even wait one second before zeroing in on where Kate is standing on the roof of Avengers tower going toe to toe with what looks like a giant winged rat. Her bow is nowhere to be seen and there's red on her neck.

  
America flies straight into the mutant rat, one punch ready to knock this weird shit into space.

  
"Holy shit!" America hears faintly as she grapples with it up into the sky. Batrat gnashes its teeth and flaps its wings desperately, but America gets a hold of one and rips. Hard. Blood spurts in the air, some wetting her face. Gross.

  
It's enough for the wing to tear with a sick, slow crunch and she drops it the second it's clean off before her right hook takes care of the rest. America doesn't wait to watch the body fall, instead racing back to Kate where she's notching up arrows and taking out more of the creatures that are mid-flight.

  
She checks her over with a clinical eye. There's a bite on her neck. She's moving fine. That's enough for now.

  
Kate starts talking in distracted grunts before she can say anything.

  
"Mutated sewer rats." She fires an arrow. "Like _all_ of the sewer rats." Another arrow. "Scientist dude fucked up." Another arrow. "Dude, I hate New York."

  
America uses a sleeve to wipe at the blood on her face and then dumps her jacket by Kate's feet.

  
"We'll talk later." she says before shooting off into the sky. It's a sunny day for Boston in April, is all she thinks before tackling three flying rats at once.

  
By the end of the fight, America can admit that she's tired. She has three times the stamina of a human from Earth Prime, according to Bruce Banner, but she's still bone-tired. Because Kate wasn't kidding.

  
That was all of the sewer rats in New York.

  
"Today proved one thing." Kate tells her while they sit together on the tower. Everyone is nursing wounds and/or pretending they aren't ready to pass out. "Science was a mistake."

  
"True that." David says from halfway across the roof. "I know I'm supposed to be a braniac, and I am, but the only thing I learned today is that rats are actually from The Special Hell."

  
"Why did some of them have extra legs? Like why would any rat ever need more mobility??" Kamala complains from Iron Man's personal jet runway.   
America sympathizes with all of them.

  
She can't even count how many giant rat bones she had to see today. Somehow, this rates a 1 star in her Fight Ranking system. Giant flying rats sounds fun. But, she thinks while smearing blood off on her shorts, at what cost?

  
"Hey, you." Kate nudges her with an elbow, bouncing on her toes. America doesn't understand how she can be so cool about standing on the edge of a 70 ft. building. She isn't the one with flight capabilities.

  
"Thanks for playing knight in shining armor again, today. It was pretty cool this time. Like, I was super not looking forward to King Rat eating me so- that was nice."  
America doesn't know why her face feels really warm all of a sudden. She looks down at her jacket. Kate's laid her sunglasses on it.

  
"Don't get sentimental, Princess."

  
"Accept the thank you, you boob." Kate pokes her in the stomach a little.

  
"Fine. You're welcome. But I want at least four pizzas tonight and you're letting me crash at your place."

  
Kate's apartment is actually heavenly, the kind of place a rich kid should spend most of their time. America thinks it's some real martyrdom, the way she chills at Clint's shitty digs when she doesn't have to.

  
"Deal." Kate sighs.

  
"Ooh! I'm coming too!" Spider-guy says, and about five other people chorus agreement before Kate shuts that idea down with a solid "nope."   
America doesn't even try not to feel smug.

  
She offers to let Kate mooch a free ride via piggyback air-travel, but she insists that they get into her car because "umm, I drove here, and if I leave my keys with Clint, I'll have a cracked windshield and no tires when I get by Monday. Plus we can stop for pizza instead of getting delivery and you know what that means."

  
"Car pizza?"

  
Kate puts her sunglasses on and smiles. "Car pizza."

  
America throws her jacket into the backseat and kicks her feet up onto the dashboard because as Kamala puts it- 'she has no home-training' and also no one used cars in the Utopian Parallel.

  
Kate starts the engine and then plugs in her phone and lets America DJ while they ride over mutated rat guts all the way back to New York. Upside- no traffic.

  
Car pizza does in fact happen as they get six boxes from Joe's in Brooklyn and book it on the way home. America feeds Kate a slice occasionally, the chewing distracting her from complaining about the music choices.

  
"I'm just saying, my Apple Music membership can treat you right!" because America only ever plays Russian club music or Selena's greatest hits. America imitates the Charlie Brown ' _my boring parents are talking_ ' noise (she really likes a lot of Earth cartoons) and Kate groans loudly and it's the kind of comfortable America only lets herself be occasionally. She doesn't like analyzing why it's so easy.

  
Thinking about feelings is for losers. Pizza is for winners.

  
' _Bidi Bidi Bom Bom_ ' comes on and America liberates another Extra Cheese Extra Mushrooms Pineapple Parmesan Crust piece from the box and into her mouth. She could get into this Knight In Shining Armor deal, a little more, maybe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my avoidant daughter America Chavez. Ugh, I guess I'm gonna talk about feelings or whatever in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint says things like "now this is real music" when he hears any song from the 80s. Natasha isn't a doctor. Someone with a kink for catholic imagery got to America. Oh, and Feelings.

America stays over longer than usual, eating Kate's Fruity Pebbles and listening to her swear in the bathroom in the mornings. She's on winter break apparently, because even Space College is accommodating about that sort of thing. Kate usually likes her space and gets annoyed after like five minutes of having anyone over but it's different with America.

 

They sleep in the same bed even though there's a big couch in Kate's living room that she's seen Tommy and David crash on together with ample space between them. America doesn't talk about it, so she doesn't either. Every night it's too easy for them both to squabble over who gets Left Side, for America to win, and for the both of them to end up sprawled all over each other in deep sleep.

 

Kate even stops arguing about the Left Side thing after a while. It isn't a big deal and America likes to be near the door, probably so she can bolt if things get too emotional. Which Kate can respect. They're getting into mad girlfriends territory and even she can admit it.

 

It's like some kind of... Emotional Jenga, the way they keep initiating intimacies and then refusing to acknowledge they're even doing it. One day it’s going to topple and take Kate down with it, but Mama didn’t raise no quitter, so-

 

On Saturday, Kate wears one of America's shirts to bed. It's star-spangled and an almost tacky red. 

 

"Identity theft is a real Earth crime, Bishop." is all America says about it, and then yawns and rolls over. 

 

On Monday, America pulls her back into bed when she tries to be a responsible adult and hit up Shield HQ to beg for an internship with Maria Hill again. 

 

"Lazy butt." Kate grumbles but doesn't move again until the middle of the day. Whatever. Big government isn't her style anyway. She's more about fighting for the little guy.

 

They only hit the gym together once because America gets them banned from the one in her apartment building for misconduct and also destruction of property. Kate thinks the first charge is bullshit but the second one is- "yeah okay fair". The entire thing is on her Snapchat. It was pretty hot to watch America benchpress a treadmill.

 

They stay in  _ a lot.  _ Turns out, for someone with the ability to pop through dimensions, America's a bit of a homebody when she wants to be. This means that Kate now has, like, actual pull-up bars in her apartment doorways now, because America likes to work out when she isn’t demanding that they go to Olive Garden.

 

“There is no other planet that carries Olive Garden.” she sighs over breadsticks one day. 

 

Clint doesn't call her to suit up and she isn't freelancing as much these days so Kate's right with her. Watching her. Just work out. And eat breadsticks. Kate drinks more water than she ever has, thanks to America and she can grudgingly admit that her body feels amazing.    

 

"I'm trying to like, work on myself or whatever." Kate tells America when they're out one night. They get groceries at two a.m. like true New Yorkers and America likes to ride in the cart and toss out anything Kate picks that looks gross.

 

"Mmm. I hope some of this working on yourself means I don't find you half-dead in alleyways anymore." 

 

"Hey, that was one time and I definitely hit the champagne a little bit before that fight so." 

 

"Uh-huh." 

 

Kate doesn't know where she found mittens with red, white, and blue stars on them but America's pretty cute in her winter gear. 

 

"I'm not buying her too." Kate tells the cashier, straight-faced and pointing to the superhero in her cart when they get to the register. 

 

"You couldn't afford me." America yawns. 

 

The cashier,  **_JAMILA_ ** , as her nametag proclaims, smiles. "You two are cute. How long have you been together?"

 

Kate's about to make something up about their recent wedding in Cabo or something but she doesn't have the chance before America snaps that they aren't- together, that is. 

 

"Wow, ok." Kate can't help the way it comes out bitter. 

 

"What?"

 

Kate doesn't say anything. It's not like it matters. It isn't a big deal. America wasn't lying and they  _ aren't  _ together and just because Kate was starting to forget that- 

 

Whatever. 

 

That isn't America's problem.

 

Jamila seems to notice that something is off as Kate starts putting her food for a nation (haha, get it, America?) up onto the belt and stays quiet.

 

When they get home, Kate puts up the groceries in what she can admit is kind of a passive-aggressive way. She just- she just didn’t know it was  _ that  _ off the table. Like, yeah, she isn’t the greatest girlfriend material in this universe or even in the tri-state area but- 

 

She definitely thought they had a thing. 

 

“We have a thing!” she finally explodes while America is sitting on the counter and helping her put up macaroni. 

 

America calmly puts a box of Kraft on the counter and frowns. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I- I thought you realized it was snowballing. But I guess not. But we  _ sleep _ together. Like actual sleep like we’re fifty years into a marriage and not a fooling around thing.  You call me Katie and you bust up my gigs when you think I might be in trouble. And you steal my clothes-”

 

“You steal  _ my _ clothes.” America interjects which-

 

“NOT the point.” 

 

“What  _ is  _ the point?”

 

“I don’t know.” Kate’s starting to feel stupid, now. She’s acting like a bonafide Crazy, Entitled Rich Girl now. The cashier thing wasn’t even that big of a deal and she’s blowing it out of proportion. She’s panics a little bit about all of this- this whole thing she’s started. “Never mind. I’m- I’m being stupid.”

 

“No, hey.” America pushes her hair behind her ears. “Come ‘ere.” 

 

Kate walks up to the counter where she’s perched, thighs spread like a Thanksgiving meal. God, now is not the time. She avoids America’s eyes because she really does not want to be pitied for her big, stupid crush right now. 

 

America pulls her in closer, tentatively putting an arm around her shoulders in a soft hug. Her blue cutoff sweater is too soft to be from this Earth. Kate holds on to her waist.

 

“I’m sorry.” she says and Kate stiffens. 

 

“What?”

 

“I can like- go or whatever, I guess.” 

 

Kate wants to laugh that shrill, unhinged kind of laugh that suburban soccer moms everywhere have perfected. 

 

“Oh my god.” she pulls back. “What? I don’t even- I  _ can’t _ with you.”

 

Kate can’t even explain the rage boiling over her critical thinking skills right now. She gets so mad that she doesn’t even have a brain anymore because is America  **_serious_ ** ? She just had this, like, total meltdown about their dynamic and America wants to  _ leave _ .

 

Kate gets mean because that’s all she knows how to do with her feelings this trampled on. 

 

“Fine. Go. I literally don’t care.” 

 

America’s frown turns into something stormy that she’s used to seeing out in the middle of a fight and never directed at her. There’s pain there, too, and Kate chooses not to focus on that, because if  **anyone** is hurting right now, it’s her. 

 

America stares at her hard, like she’s trying to figure out why Kate is flipping the fuck out. Like she doesn’t get why Kate can’t just be chill, or something. Kate stares right back. She’s not about to get her heart fucking suplexed again just because America is allergic to emotion.

 

“Katie, why-”

 

“You’re still here? Bye bye.” 

 

“What the fuck ever.” is the last thing America says before she hops off of the counter, pushes past Kate, and stomps so hard out of the front door that Kate’s pretty sure she leaves holes in the floor. 

 

*

 

Kate is fucking miserable. 

 

She sleeps on her couch a lot. The bed smells too much like America. She changed the sheets but then it didn’t smell like America at all and somehow that was worse. All of America’s workout stuff and clothes have been stuffed into the back of her closet, except for a red tank top with two blue stars over the tits that Kate wears to bed sometimes because she’s a lovesick idiot.

 

This is so stupid. She’s being  _ so _ stupid. She has to get out of this prison of an apartment.  

 

She practically begs Clint to tag along on one of his missions and then takes a fist to the nose that she could have easily avoided. She sees stars. When they get back from the AIM facility, Clint makes them stop at Burger King. 

 

It’s a good idea until Kate realizes she left her wallet at home. 

 

She knows she must look like hell- they both do, but her especially. It’s three a.m. They’re the only customers and her sunglasses have a lens punched out. Her nose is taped to hell. She only has the four dollars in her bra and Clint already spent all his money on like thirty burgers in his order. 

 

“I normally would never do this but is there like- I don’t know like a deal? For being an Avenger? Or almost-an-Avenger? I was part of this team called the Young Avengers but it’s a grow-er not a show-er, if you know what I mean. No fanbase yet.” 

 

The cashier looks at her with dead eyes. 

 

“There is no superhero discount, ma’am.”

 

Aww, man. No extra apple pie for her.

 

“It’s like the middle of the night and we’re wearing sunglasses. We look like assholes.” Kate says as they walk back to his apartment.

 

“I wear my suuuuunglasses at night! I wear my sunglaaasses at night!” Clint sings.

 

“What?” 

 

“Ugh. I forget you’re like four.” 

 

“Bite me, old man.” 

 

She’s feeling fine when they get in and start cramming food like they’ve never eaten before but then Kate bumps her nose and her eyes are start to water and then that somehow devolves into her crying on Clint’s couch like this is a Lifetime movie. 

 

It’s like her body felt itself already tearing up and then decided ‘yeah, now’s the time to unbottle that America Thing’. 

 

Clint looks  **so** uncomfortable at her misery that she almost starts cackling in the middle of her waterworks. It’s a weird feeling to crack up internally while also sobbing into cheese-stained couch cushions. 

 

Clint doesn’t even change out of his spandex before he brings her tissues. That also makes her laugh a little. He sits down on the side of the couch that she hasn’t monopolized and asks if she wants to talk about it. 

 

She doesn’t.

 

She does. 

 

“Girls are hard.” is all she sighs. Her voice sounds terrible. 

 

“Yeah.” Clint agrees. He takes his hearing aides out and signs at her ‘girls  _ are _ hard.’ 

 

He puts on the TV. There’s a commercial for Olive Garden’s early dinner duos and unlimited pasta bowl. Kate wails into the couch. 

 

*

 

America loves TV. Kate knows this because she wakes up around four a.m. on a Thursday with her neck only cramped a little bit and after making coffee with her eye-mask still half over her eyes, she realizes there is a figure on her living room couch. Watching TV. In her apartment. On her couch. Just  _ watching _ her TV. 

 

"Uhh. I have a gun." Kate says, walking up. She hasn't turned on the light and she makes the hand that isn't holding coffee into the shape of a pistol. "And I personally know the Black Widow, buddy. So you're in deep shit."

 

On her flatscreen, a tiny Beast Boy is singing about catching villains.   

 

"You hate guns." 

 

"Oh, thank fuck." Kate unclenches and sighs and goes to turn on the light, self-conscious about her taped up nose. She’s not exactly the definition of hot right now. "You’re back, huh? America, what are you  _ doing _ ? Sitting in the dark like some kind of-  **_SHIT_ ** !"

 

"I like this show" America says and Kate is going to  _ throw up _ . She's talking like her face isn't some kind of horror show- which it is. It totally  _ is _ . Blood is pouring from her eyes and ears and the side of her mouth when she speaks. She looks like one of those old creepy weeping statues and Kate's hands immediately start fluttering for something to do. She sloshes coffee onto herself and can barely spare a second to hiss at the burn of it before she sits it on the table. The paper towel in her kitchen probably won't do much but she runs and grabs the entire roll before running to her room and snatching up her phone so fast that it rips the connected charger out of the wall.

 

America is still on the couch when she gets back. In the light, she looks like something from a 60s uber-religious horror film. The skin around her mouth is cracked like a desert landscape. A ring of holes decorates her forehead. Kate is definitely panicking.    

 

"Just stay still." she says even though America isn't moving. "Just stay still I'm calling- I'm-" 

 

Kate gets herself together enough to unlock her phone and call Natasha. She picks up immediately, something Kate usually thinks is creepy but now she loves her for it. 

 

"Get over here now. Please." she says before Natasha can get a word in and then she calls Billy and says the same thing without the 'please'. Magic. They need magic.  

 

"It looks worse than it is." the blood demon with America's voice and face says. "I think I'm healing pretty well."

 

"Oh my God, don't talk!" Kate sobs, because it's  _ really _ gross to look at and also because she's scared out of her mind that America's going to die on her couch. She can feel herself getting hysterical. Kate has seen America fly and kick gods out of the sky and  _ literally punch holes into the fabric of reality _ . And something did this to her. Something could  _ do  _ this to  **_her_ ** .  

 

She dabs at the trails leaking from America's nose and makes her spit excess blood into the paper towel in her hand and America groans but lets her fuss. Jesus, Kate isn't even sure America  _ could _ stop her right now. Just when she's used up enough paper towel that it's started getting excessive, her living room window opens and Natasha and Clint are barrelling in.

 

"Hey, um, I know the Front Door experience isn't for everybody but please remember that I do pay rent here and I don't need CEO Jerry from Floor 9 complaining about superhero activity around the building." she's rambling so that she doesn't have to look at America's face. It really is that disturbing. 

 

Nat and Clint are both in civvies and Kate figures he must've been hanging around her sidekick-style when she got the call. 

 

"Holy shit!" Clint says in America's direction. 

 

"I know. That's what I said." 

 

"Wow, thanks." America drawls and then spits more blood into the paper towel in Kate's hand. She sounds like Kate does when she's shovelling cereal down her throat on Saturday mornings. On Kate's screen, the gang is trying to convince Starfire that a vacation to Tamaran is a good idea. 

 

Natasha gets into nurse mode and pushes Kate's hands and bloodied paper towel out of the way. 

 

"America, I need you to follow my finger." She puts up one and moves it from the left to the right and back again. Kate watches closely and is relieved to see America tracking it easily, even if two new tracks of blood start pouring from her eyes.

 

Natasha does a few more tests and produces bandages to wrap America's hands with. Kate hadn't noticed but there are holes in each of her palms, clean through the center of each. They aren't bleeding but the skin is raw and swollen.

 

Billy shows up as Natasha is shining a small light into America's eyes and Clint is in the kitchen stealing her good coffee. He uses the window too, and has Teddy in tow because they clearly can't function as separate entities.

 

"What's going on?" 

 

"Don't freak out. But America is- something happened to her. I don't know how much healing magic you can perform or if your whole thing is limited to like. Just rearranging the universe or whatever but- Billy. Teddy. Don't freak out." 

 

Billy raises an eyebrow and Teddy frowns. 

 

"O-kayyy." 

 

Kate leads them to the couch. 

 

"Your responses are a little slowed, but I have the feeling they'd be altogether gone if you weren't a powered-up alien. So there's that." Natasha's telling America. "Your pupils are still pretty dilated, but you're tracking movement rather well. I'm no doctor but it probably isn't a brain injury, which is good. It's possible that you're still just in fight or flight mode. Or that this is another side effect of whatever happened to you."

 

"Cheers, doc." American smiles and Kate can feel her face contorting into something  **horrified** .  She never wants to see America's Blood Smile again. 

 

"Not a doc." Natasha corrects again. "You want some painkillers?" 

 

Teddy whispers "Is that the Black Widow?" and Billy starts swearing like a sailor on leave. 

 

After that, everything is essentially a shitshow that blurs in Kate's mind because several things happen: 

 

**1** : They learn that America's system will apparently burn through anything that isn't a heap of straight morphine in about four seconds flat. 

 

**2** : Billy waves his hands his and says some kind of Harry Potter-esque nonsense that Kate doesn't think much of until-

 

**3** : America starts convulsing and waves of white smoke begin to rise from her open mouth. 

 

She's been cursed, is Billy's conclusion. By someone more skilled than him but fortunately less powerful. America groans and leans into her side and Kate strokes her sweaty head and lets herself be bled on. She's usually the one falling apart, is the thing. Kate needs her to be well, needs to say sorry for flipping out before. For pushing America away.

 

Billy can reverse some of the physical effects, he says, but hesitates to do anything internal, on account of not trusting himself with her super-organs. Kate can understand that. 

 

“Do it.” 

 

He starts to glow and do his thing while Kate holds America and smooths her hair. Her dad stopped taking her to church when Mom died but Kate thinks about praying for a second. She doesn’t.

 

“I got you.” is all she says in America’s ear.

 

Billy’s done by about the crack of dawn, yawning when the holes in America’s forehead and palms have finally closed up. Her skin isn’t cracked anymore. She’s stopped leaking blood. The only evidence of her suffering are the red stains left over on her face and the exhaustion in her eyes. 

 

Teddy asks if they can crash and Kate obliges him, distracted. She’s still checking over America. Clint and Natasha left as soon as they realized that magic was going to be the theme of the day.

 

America doesn’t talk, but lays in Kate’s arms, drooping and tired.

 

“I got you” Kate says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my kink is ghosting and then coming back forever later to offer you all my sweet sweet self-indulgent rambling on a platter


End file.
